


Of course it doesn't look like MI-5, Carl

by westolethelight (Llama)



Category: The Libertines
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23215963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama/pseuds/westolethelight
Summary: "Good morning!" Peter said cheerfully, dragging Carl up to stand beside him, though not without a bit of a scuffle. Carl was here under protest, and he wanted Posh Bloke to be quite clear on that. "We'd like to be a spy."
Relationships: Carl Barat/Pete Doherty
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43
Collections: Peter and Carl fics to lift our spirits during self-isolation





	Of course it doesn't look like MI-5, Carl

**Author's Note:**

> This is expanded/adapted from a drabble (100 word fic) I wrote for a challenge a while back, inspired by the story of them trying to join the Territorial Army for some quick cash, and giving up because Carl would have had to cut his hair.
> 
> The original drabble is in the end notes for reference (aka I will probably lose it).
> 
> Um. It's very silly. Just in case the summary/excerpt wasn't a clue.

"Of course it doesn't _look_ like MI-5, Carl," Peter said, dragging him through a really posh set of glass doors. "It wouldn't be very secret if they put the name over the door, would it?"

That made a certain kind of sense, but there was one tiny thing Carl was finding it hard to get past.

"Peter. It's full of cars." 

Peter looked around, wide-eyed, as if this was new information to him. 

"You think we'll get to drive them? Mickey said--"

Carl tuned the rest out. He didn't care what One-Legged Mickey down the pub said. If it looked like a boring office and was full of aging public school types, then there was maybe a chance it was MI-5. He'd seen enough Le Carré adaptations to spot that a mile off. But if it looked like a car showroom... .

A covert organisation might want to disguise itself for _Top Secret_ reasons, but there were probably easier ways to do it than filling a massive space up with-- holy crap, was that a Ferrari? He didn't have a clue, but it was small and red with a ridiculous price tag, so it certainly would be when he was sharing the story of this escapade in hope of a free drink tonight.

There was a well-dressed man behind a desk who could conceivably have played an Old Etonian on TV. He looked like he was about ten seconds away from calling some serious security on them, so Carl gave him a jovial smile.

The man twitched. Make that three seconds.

It was probably for the best that Peter reached the desk first, Carl thought. People liked Peter. His scarf was a little bit awry this morning, though. Carl reached up and straightened it for him, and Peter gave him a soft little smile before turning his attention back to the Posh Probably Public School Educated Bloke looking at them with more wariness than politeness from behind the desk. One of his hands seemed to be reaching under the desk. Uh oh.

On the other hand, it was another point against this being Top Secret MI-5 place – they wouldn't be intimidated by a couple of scruffy chancers wandering in. They'd have been bundled into a cell and questioned at gun point by now, or at least tea-and-biscuit point. 

Carl would kill for a half-decent cup of tea. Would they have Earl Grey? He rather thought they might.

"How can I help you..." Posh Bloke said, peering down his nose at Peter. "… sir."

"Good morning!" Peter said cheerfully, dragging Carl up to stand beside him, though not without a bit of a scuffle. Carl was here under protest, and he wanted Posh Bloke to be quite clear on that. "We'd like to be a spy."

"This is--" Posh Bloke started to say, but he stopped, looking puzzled. "Just one spy? There's two of you."

"We work best together," Peter said, and nudged Carl with his elbow.

"'S'true," Carl mumbled, and shrugged when Posh Bloke raised an eyebrow. "Prob'ly for the best all round if you don't let him loose on his own."

"Sometimes I get lost," Peter added, giving the bloke the full force of his most charming smile. "Or forget things."

"I see." 

Posh Bloke didn't look especially impressed, but at least Carl could see his hands again now. Maybe he was going to give it another minute before hitting his hidden alarm. Whatever this place was, it _definitely_ had one of those.

"And, er." Posh Bloke gestured at them. "Who exactly do you want to... spy for?"

Peter looked outraged. "Britain, of course. We're not _traitors_."

Things were bad enough that Carl was pretty much anyone's for a packet of fags and a fiver right now, but he nodded dutifully when Peter looked at him.

"Good to know," Posh Bloke said.

"Do we need to fill in a form?" Peter asked. "And do we need to do one each, or can we share?"

Posh Bloke's left eye twitched. "Oh, I think one will be enough."

 _Test Drive_ it said at the top of the form, and something about a credit check.

"Very nice," Peter said admiringly. He gave Posh Bloke a knowing wink. "Subtle."

Carl rolled his eyes, but Posh Bloke smiled, just a little, and slowly winked back at Peter. Who said public school tossers didn't have a sense of humour? (Okay, Carl usually. And he still hated 'em, okay?)

Still, enough was enough. He plucked the form out of Peter's hands and put it on the desk. "Thanks for your time, we'll be off now."

He didn't wait for Peter, just headed for the door. After a moment Peter caught up with him, but of course he had the stupid form in his hand again.

"We're not taking anything for a test drive," Carl told him as they hit the busy London streets again. "And you know we won't be passing any credit checks."

"Oh, Carl." Peter shook his head, clearly lamenting Carl's deplorable lack of faith. Whether in him, them, the government, car dealers or One-Legged Mickey, Carl wasn't sure. Possibly all of the above. "Of course it doesn't _look_ like an MI-5 application form."

**Author's Note:**

> Original drabble:
> 
> Peter dragged Carl up to the reception desk. "Good morning. We'd like to be a spy."
> 
> "This is--" The man stopped. "Just one spy? There's two of you."
> 
> "We work best together." Carl shrugged. 
> 
> "And who do you want to... spy for?"
> 
> Peter looked outraged. "Britain, of course. We're not _traitors_."
> 
> Carl was anyone's for a packet of fags and a fiver right now, but he nodded dutifully when Peter looked at him.
> 
> "Good to know," the man said. "Unfortunately, this is a car showroom."
> 
> Peter opened his mouth, but the man cut him off. "And we're not hiring."


End file.
